So after last time, I got to thinking about Cobain, and I wondered where he was from. Then I remembered, but my Google search revealed a real woodsy place as his last residence, even though he looked to live in the city. Hopped on one of those last-minute-flight sites and got a ticket for the next day from La Guardia to SeaTac. There’s a hostel in the middle of downtown, and I figured I would stay there. Got everything booked, and went to bed.
I sat in bed and thought about doing this, but figured what the hell, and got on my way. God knows no one was waiting for me here. I arrived at about noon, having left at seven in the morning, and it’s always a new feeling when you get into a new town. The design looks intentional, it looks like it’s for you. I rate cities as they open up to me, wherever I may go.
Seattle has a metro. Did you know that? I didn’t. And it stops like four minutes from my hostel. Got set up, walked outside, there’s the water, there are the mountains. I can smell fish and salt and bird shit, I see people with one side of their head shaved. I didn’t even rent a car, I just walked. I walked up, I walked down, I walked up this massive goddamned hill, and stopped to have teriyaki at the top of it. It was five dollars, and I could only just get to the end of it. It was sloppy in a way that I wanted it to be. I walked further up the street, and it turned out to be a pretty main drag. Turned right, I see two ice cream shops. Stop in one, they have salty caramel ice cream. You read that right.
The sidewalks were cracked, the roads were curved and unsigned, I never felt like it was industrial or dirty. People look at you when you walk down the street. Everything belongs to someone, a person was responsible for the buildings, and not a corporation, not a company who made their money renting it out to businesses. There was something to see. And there’s only as much at every corner as you can take in at one shot. I stopped at one intersection, and saw three venues on four corners. This wasn’t a place you saw, this was a place you felt. And it’s so fucking tiny. I looked later on google maps, and I could actually track the progress I had made in one day. I was hooked.
Now that I’ve been here for a few days, I don’t feel as excited, but I feel a lot better than I did. I got a small apartment in some place called Ravenna, I’m still learning where it is. It’s silly cheap. This region is significantly less exciting, but I found a bar I like a lot called “Pies & Pints” that’s not too far from my place, they make sweet potato fries. There’s also a wine store nearby, and a Safeway, so I’m surviving. Though I’ll let you in on a secret.
While I’m still thinking about my new place, and what I can do to it to decorate it, I’m not entirely sure I feel all that different. I wake up, and I have nothing to do except decorate the place (more on that later). But I’m stuck here, and I’m still going stir crazy. I have more to explore when I walk around, and it’s a little harder to find things to do. I need to go find some newsletters or something. But I’ve woken up here three days now, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve screwed something up. I’m now 3000 miles away from where I know, where I am comfortable, and I have planted my flag. I’ve stuck it deep in the ground, and am now decorating the pole. I have no idea how to solve this, and more and more of it comes back every day. I want to scream to people passing by, “I’m not from here!” as if it was some great secret. The further I sit from where I was, the more alone and isolated I feel. I now study the contours of this new place, and not the old one. And then I add something to this place, and think about all of the uses it will have. Maybe that’s why I am on here again, but I feel a bit better when I write here. A little less pressure on my head, or in my head, or something. But you can run miles and miles and miles, and you’re still right where you are. Anyway.
The last place didn’t have a whole lot to it, I always kind of felt I didn’t live there so much as we tolerated each other, the apartment and I. I bought the utensils I needed, it got the cleaning and maintenance it needed; I fixed the showerhead when it spewed, re-sealed one of the windows, soaked up spills from the carpet whenever I had one. No rubbing, at least not at first. When I went back to grab my stuff, I put up a sign, and was already getting a few looks. Within two hours, I had my first call. Frankly, no looking back. Grabbed/sold my stuff in two days, and got the hell out of there.
One of the places I went to near Seattle was a Frye’s in some crappy place called Renton, and I realized that my initial trip here was pretty much all of the good parts, and I kind of want to move. I took the first place I could find after all. So far, I have some framed movie posters, that painting of that guy screaming in my bathroom, a chinese scroll in my kitchen cause what the hell, and I have an artificial wall, a partition of bookshelves. I don’t know how I collected all of these books, I am sure I have not read that many, and as I am looking them over, they must move around to fill in several gaps. With this place, though, this little one bedroom deal, I am actually taking a little pride in decorating it. Which is good, cause that’s about all I do.
And to tell you the truth, I’m fighting the urge to go to a firm and slap my resume down. If you think I haven’t already looked a few up, you don’t know me well enough.
Time for a bottle of wine, I think. I ran this morning, and it’s going to rain soon. I might leave the window open and enjoy it with a few glasses. Rain has always had a calming effect on me. By the way, does anyone know where I can get a cheap car?